


Accidental Romantic

by hushicho



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Desperation, M/M, Oral Sex, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hushicho/pseuds/hushicho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been acting weird lately. Dean's sure he can get to the bottom of it.</p>
<p>Set in an alternate season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental Romantic

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the Supernatural Kink Big Bang (http://spnkinkbb.tumblr.com) 2016.
> 
> Various work at http://carryonwaywardhomos.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments are moderated due to the time-honored tradition of the annual stupid ship wars and a kink that already gets enough hate. Don't worry, if you want to leave a comment and you're not a psycho, I'm happy to respond to it. :)

“I'll be right back.”

Dean glanced up as his brother moved to slip out of the room. “Yeah,” he answered, looking away after that acknowledgement.

But once he heard Sam's footsteps far enough away, he crept to the gaping doorway to listen. Holding his breath, he slowly leaned around the wall, narrowing his eyes in the long shadow.

He could just make out Sam's figure, jeans slack at his hips, a strong stream splattering onto the floor just in front of his brother's boots. Sam even sighed, the sound mingled with a soft moan of relief that lingered in Dean's ears too long.

The elder Winchester took in a sudden breath, ducking back around the wall and hurrying back to where he had stood a moment before. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, hard and fast.

Taking a leak on the floor of some half-collapsed ruin in the middle of nowhere was nothing new or different to Dean, but Sam...Sam usually held out. The younger brother typically preferred the modern convenience of a bathroom. It wasn't like him to just let loose in a dirty, dark corner.

Dean couldn't decide if he thought Sam was just acting like a princess most of the time, or if he genuinely suffered from pee-shyness. He could recall offhand at least a dozen times from childhood where the two of them relieved themselves around each other. Those days were a long time ago now, Dean had to admit, and plenty had changed during the years Sam went away to college.

Still, Dean found it hard to believe that Sam could have grown _that_ much more modest in a couple of years, and at college of all places. Wasn't college the place where people went to do keg parties and have all kinds of crazy casual sex? Often at the same time? Sure, they had a learning requirement and everything, but Dean thought it made sense; academics served as the cover charge for the biggest and longest-running party of your life! If you could afford college, you needed to make sure you didn't remember those years afterwards. You should walk across the stage, collect your diploma, and look out on a crowd of people you can't recall, assembled in a place you only vaguely recognize.

He reached out to tug up half of a cinderblock, pulling it away from the debris under it. It kept going from his grasp and smacked into the dirt. Dean grimaced, seeing the half-desiccated, half-decayed stone and brick, an insect or two scrambling, exposed to the air.

Sam's heavy footfalls were easy to hear returning to stand nearby as the younger brother resumed his investigation.

“I don't know, Dean. Maybe it did what it needed to do. I can't find anything else.”

The whole thing distracted Dean. He couldn't concentrate on the search anymore, at this point. “Yeah,” he found himself replying. “Maybe we oughta just take five and go back to the motel, see what we can put together from what we got.”

Sam just nodded once, heartily, and started for the doorway, where once had stood a door, but now only fragments of pressed wood clung to the rusted remains of hinges.

Dean frowned deeper as he stood up, dusting his thighs from nothing. It wasn't like Sam to just give up so quickly and easily. To be fair, the search through the half-collapsed old building held little promise, and anyway Dean was bored. This time, he'd follow through.

He fully intended to keep his brother under a heavier scrutiny than usual for the rest of the day.

Accordingly, he noticed each of the four times Sam excused himself over the following hour. He refrained from listening against the door, but the size of the room meant he could at least tell if anything were actually hitting the water in the toilet. The first time didn't hold much, apparently, but the second sang a torrent of a full bladder. The third imitated the first, and the fourth seemed completely without purpose. Sam could've been literally powdering his nose, for all the noise he didn't make.

Every time, Sam stood like a flash and moved with purpose and determination. If not an actual urgent need, what was that all about? Just making sure?

Dean didn't like the thought. But he liked Sam's secrecy even less. As his brother returned to sit back in the upholstered chair across from the beds, Dean pushed to his feet.

“Talk to me.”

Slowly, Sam lifted his head, taking his gaze from the book on his lap to stare at the face of his older brother. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You know what I mean!” Dean set his jaw, breathing deeply in and then huffing out an indignant puff through his nostrils, flaring them. “Look, do you need to see a doctor? You got a...a bladder infection or something?”

“I don't need to see a doctor!” Sam instantly countered, much louder and far more defensive than strictly necessary. “Just mind your own business, Dean!”

“You _are_ my business!”

Sam snorted, slamming the tome shut and tossing it onto the table next to him. He shoved his hands down on the arms of the chair and launched himself out of it, standing tall before his brother.

“ _Funny_ how every time you get nosy, it's all 'your business' and everything. Just leave me alone! You're driving me crazy.” Sam looked around himself and grabbed his coat, pulling it on as he stalked to the door. “I'm going out. I need some fresh air.”

Dean rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up and letting them fall to his sides. “Sammy. Sam. Don't do this. Look, I'm just concerned...”

The door slammed shut before he could finish, leaving the elder Winchester alone in a smaller and duller than usual motel room. He moved his jaw slowly, clenching his teeth in anger and forcing himself to breathe slower, to try and relax.

He would get to the bottom of this.

 

By the time Sam returned, no light but the one in the bathroom still shined. Dean had pulled the door just to the frame, just enough to give a little illumination in the room, but without interfering with his sleep. It functioned as a basic night light.

Sam sighed, mostly at himself, trying to stay quiet. He turned the knob so the door wouldn't click when he shut it again, and he carefully slid the chain into its track.

“So,” Dean's voice came from the bed as he sat up, ruffling his hair, “you get enough air?”

Sam should have expected it, but he jumped slightly. “Dean!”

“Yeah. Light sleeper.” Dean yawned, fanning his mouth. “Get some sleep. We got a lot of work to do tomorrow.” He paused, turning to glance at the clock on the bedside table. “Today,” he corrected himself.

“Yeah.” Sam mumbled, sweeping into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind him.

Dean gave him a couple of minutes, getting himself to a more wakeful mindset before finally pulling himself out of bed and stretching, lifting his arms and arching his back, flexing his muscles and then relaxing them again. He frowned, reaching down to adjust himself in his aged boxer-briefs that had once been black, but now could only just manage “charcoal” on a good day.

He stamped over to the door and smacked it with the back of his hand. “Sammy! Hurry up in there.”

No response.

“Sammy. Just give me thirty seconds and then you can go back to plucking your eyebrows and maintaining your landing strip.”

Silence continued to greet him.

“Listen, _Samantha_ – give somebody else a turn or I _will_ piss in one of these empty bottles, and I will _not_ tell you which one it is!”

The knob turned and the door swung open, Sam standing behind it. He sighed, looking to Dean, and motioned grandly to the toilet.

Dean walked over to it and reached down to jam his hand past his waistband. Before he went any further, he sighed too.

“Can I get a little privacy, or did you want me to put on a show?” He pursed his lips for a second. “Is that what this is about? Did you...discover your kinky gay side and don't wanna talk to me about it?”

Sam stalked out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean shoved his underwear down and let his stream fly into the waiting water below, shivering with the pleasure of relief. His thoughts turned to his little brother again, and he rolled his eyes.

So Sammy wanted to take his time in the only bathroom here, one they had to share? Fine! Two could play at that game.

Easing back a bit, Dean no longer pushed out a stream that made it look like he was trying to chip the porcelain. He'd just take a nice, long, leisurely leak, and Sam would just have to deal with someone else being in the bathroom for a little while. Sam practically camped out in it all day now. What was up with that?

“Dean,” Sam's voice came from the other side of the door. “Come on. I need to finish getting ready for bed.”

“I got a man-sized bladder here to drain!” Dean called back. “You can wait another couple of minutes.”

He felt proud of himself for that one, although he had to admit, he was running quickly out of anything to pee. He could only possibly hold out for a few more seconds, if his younger brother were listening to make sure. Past that, it would be obvious enough that he had finished his business.

“Dean, _please_.”

“Come on, Sammy. I have to be hygienic and all.” Dean shook his cock as he finished, sending a couple of drops more all around him than straight down. “You'd just _bitch_ at me if I didn't wipe.”

The door opened, Sam making for the toilet. It surprised Dean, but not enough to knock him off his stride. He tucked himself back into his underwear, turning around to face his brother.

“What's got into you? Wait your turn!”

“Dean, I _need_ –”

“Come on. You can't wait ten seconds so I can wash my hands? Every time you're in here, I have to wait like ten minutes for you to do something that takes me two.”

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam barked, reaching out to take his brother by the shoulders and manually move him.

But Dean fought against it, not so easily removed. Sam uttered a series of grunts and groans, quickly transitioning into a growl. He shoved at Dean's chest, hard, and whimpered, cheeks burning red.

“Come on. There.” Dean let his waistband snap back to his skin, stepping aside and waving at the still unflushed toilet. “Take your turn. I promise I won't look if...”

Then he suddenly fell silent, looking slowly down.

Were his ears playing tricks on him? Definitely not, unless he also happened to be visually hallucinating. The white tiles on the floor shimmered pale gold and wet. He could smell the urine, strong from having been fought back and held for as long as his brother had tried.

“Sammy?” Dean's tone softened instantly, considerably, no longer tinged with the machismo and posturing that he usually wore. Now his words took a tender and genuine tone to them. “I'm so, so sorry. You okay, man?”

Sam's cheeks burned, practically glowing red. The only response he could manage squeaked out in a fading murmur, incomprehensible and only barely audible.

Dean's memory rolled back to a time that felt like a million years ago, with his brother upset after having an accident – they both knew their father more likely to react badly than to react well, or support him like a father should. They had to work fast; neither of them wanted to play that lottery, that losing game. That same expression twisted along Sam's face now, the same obvious struggle not to cry in front of his big brother. It simultaneously tugged at Dean's heart and broke it a little.

And it made him angry to think back. He could feel a fire in his stomach. So much remained unresolved, so much peace never to be made.

God damn John Winchester.

“Look, relax. I got you. I got this.” Dean reached out and, gently but with a firmness that would not brook protest or defiance, moved Sam to the tub, to sit him on the side. “We'll get you cleaned up. It's okay. We can talk about what we need to do to get you better later. Okay?”

Under the bravado of every day, just beneath the surface and waiting for a reason to emerge, lay the conditioned reflexes of being the oldest son. Every tendency to make things right, every need to make amends between loved ones at odds, all of it stood ready just behind the curtain of Dean Winchester's public mask.

Sam blinked back the unshed tears making his eyes sparkle. He shook his head hurriedly, silent until his lips parted and, with some effort, he spoke. “It's not like...that, Dean. It's not...” his voice caught in his throat. “It's something with this case. I've been doing...a _lot_ of research. I'll show you on the laptop.”

“Later.” Dean tugged Sam's shirt up, tossing it onto the floor, and then reached down to undo his jeans. “Ain't a thing we can't fix, you and me. Right?” He pushed a grin onto his face, looking hopefully up at his brother's. “We'll get you back to grumping at me for making too many pit stops in no time.”

“I don't know, Dean,” Sam countered, voice quaking. “I don't know.”

“Well I do! C'mon.” Dean hauled Sam to his feet and pushed the jeans down, then started to work his brother's boxer-briefs down. “Nothin' we can't put a stake in, or a silver knife, or salt and burn, or...whatever.”

Sam had to smile. Just a little, just at the very edges of his lips.

“You sure you're all...done?” Dean paused, his rough hands warm on Sam's bare hips, waistband of the underpants dipped to halfway through Sam's dusky bush.

With a grunt, Sam rolled his eyes. “I don't have to pee any more.”

Dean quickly nodded, working the blue boxer-briefs down his brother's legs, crouching and then reaching down to untie the boots. He helped one foot out, then the other, pushing thick socks down over those big feet. Looking up again, he opened his mouth and found words escaping him as he came face to face – such as it were – with Sam's impressive dick.

It gleamed with moisture, framed with curly, twisted hairs like a dark cloud around it and sparkling with drops of wetness caught on them. It smelled so strongly, so much like Sam – so very much like Sam – the scent Dean had committed to memory, the one he always could faintly sense just after his brother had left the car, or the remnant of him in the sheets in the morning at the motels.

He couldn't stop himself. He felt his body move inexorably, irresistably, and he brought his lips to kiss Sam's head, breathing deep through his nose.

“Dean?” Sam looked down, jaw slack and eyes growing wide. “What are you doing?” Despite himself, he spread his legs slightly more.

It was easy enough to explain it away that wires had been crossed, but so had boundaries. Dean suddenly had Sam entirely in his mouth, deep-throating, nose to the soft, wet mass of hairs. They tickled his face.

“Dean! Dean, that's...” Sam pursed his lips, resting bitchface. “But...” No coherent protest ever made it into words, and the expression of frustration melted away to one of pleasure.

After a thoroughly frustrating and humiliating day, at least they had this. All the questions that welled up to be asked, all the concerns tumbled away to the back of their minds. Every uncertain thing, every crazy bet could not shake the stable synergy of the two. Who else could understand? Their unconventional upbringing meant unity against a common enemy: the rest of the world in general.

Sam and Dean Winchester were thick as thieves.

Feeling his legs shaking, Sam slowly worked his way down, leaning against the powder blue-tiled wall, to sit on the side of the tub. He lifted a hand to run through Dean's short hair. It always amused him, the feeling of it, sometimes the little spikes that moved together and bent under the touch.

Dean worked that cock like a champ, licking all along it, down the underside and up angled beside it. One hand squeezed at the base, the other rubbed damp hairs over thick, muscular thigh. Once he had his first taste, he could hardly slow down. His body knew what to do, and it intended to take him along for the ride.

Sam barely made a sound when he felt himself tense up. That familiar sensation he knew all too well, from secret late nights on the edge of the mattress, as far away from Dean's bed as he could get, just to have some solitary relief. If he'd known Dean would help him out like this, he couldn't help but think, he wouldn't have bothered with all the hiding.

It coated Dean's tongue. It spilled over his lips, spattering onto the floor. Another thing to clean up later. He pulled up to the head, so sensitive, and gave it a last, wicked hard suck.

Sam moaned, high-pitched and near a whimper as he looked to his brother's eyes, pleading.

That satisfied Dean. He could chalk this up as a win.

“Okay, Sammy. You and me both need to clean up.” Dean stood, only a little unsteady at first, and peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothing on the floor. “Start up the water and let it warm up.”

Sam still hadn't caught his breath. After a few seconds, he gave a nod and leaned over to twist one knob and then the other, then he tugged up the switch for the shower.

When he looked back, the sight of stark-naked Dean met his eyes. A wave of heat rolled over his body, and suddenly Sam found himself short of breath again. Dean was at least half-hard, with the way it bounced, every move he made.

“What?” Dean looked down at himself and grinned a little. “Like you ain't peeked at this more than once? We share motel rooms.”

In the next second, the older Winchester very nearly allowed an extremely unbecoming squeak gurgle up from his throat as his brother grabbed his hips, grabbed his ass, and pulled him closer, close enough for Sam's sweet, soft lips to press along that rigid length. Then he sank his mouth down on it, but he quickly pulled back, coughing.

Dean ran his fingers through the long, silken locks. “'s okay, Sammy,” he murmured, eyes glassed. “Don't push yourself.”

He rocked his hips. Sam tried again, licking around the head and giving a suck, just at the end, in a sort of payback. Dean gave him the satisfaction of drawing forth a happy little sound and a ruffle.

Dean leaked so much more than Sam. His underwear had been damp and sticky from sheer arousal, and that translated to slick and salty on the tongue.

It occurred to Sam that his brother managed to take his entire hard-on in one go. As far as he knew, Dean was a ladies' man, and no disrespect to his older brother, but Sam sported a significantly larger endowment. There was a story there, he felt sure, but it would have to wait for a duller moment.

“Sammy.” Dean kept his tone so gentle and quiet, stroking his brother's hair. “I'm gonna...uh...that feels _so good_. If you wanna...y'know...”

Even without actually finishing his thought, Sam understood him and pulled back, but not off. He pressed his tongue at the very tip, then pushed it along, slowly sinking down again.

He felt his mouth filling a second later and, determined not to choke again, swallowed it down as best he could. He pulled back, panting, looking up at Dean as another wave shot out over his mouth, painting the side and his cheek with pearly white. He struggled to catch his breath, drawing his tongue quickly over his lips.

Dean came again when he saw that, shaking and uttering the most surprising of moans. He leaned heavily against Sam, trying not to collapse with the shock of a second orgasm so soon after the first one. It wasn't unknown to him, but it hadn't happened in a long time.

And now giving his little brother a facial had done it.

“It's okay, Dean. Lean on me.” Sam rose to the occasion, muscles flexing as he hauled Dean to him, walking him into the tub together and under the hot spray.

Steam rose around the both of them, their bodies glistening as the water poured over them, cleaning off the surface at least.

It took Dean a short time to collect himself. He forced his hands to move, grabbing for a washcloth and wiping Sam down, starting with his chest.

“Dean, I can wash myself. You don't have to do that.” Sam voiced only a token protest really, quieting with the look his brother gave him.

Dean's hands pressed firmly behind the cloth, but they remained careful enough to seem almost delicate with Sam. He took the bar of soap from its holder, rubbing it on his younger brother, making a lather with his skin and working his way outward over that broad chest.

Even just the slightest activity, Dean felt certain, would build Sam into a monster of muscle to rival any of those naked marble statues. He knew his brother hadn't really pursued sports or physical hobbies during his time at college. The boy just had a natural born athletic body type, he always had.

Dean's hands, with soap and cloth, carefully explored every curve and contour, every crevice deep and shallow. They pushed under his arms and down his sides, between his legs to that lazily thickening length and the heavy-hanging balls, heated with the steamy spray of the surprisingly good motel shower.

That body tempted him. It wasn't the build or definition, not the careful attempts to trim hair here and there even with their tumultuous lifestyle, definitely not anything that held masculine promise. It was, more than anything, the fact that it was Sammy's, and it held his warmth, his own scent, his own easy and familiar landmarks, little marks Dean knew. The acquaintance comforted him.

And who else had the right to be there? Who else deserved to enjoy this terrain he so fervently protected? Nobody else would take the hits he did, nobody put themselves in the line of danger just to make sure the only family he had – maybe the only family he ever really had – made it through another one of their serial escapades.

He didn't choose this life, and Sam already walked away from it once. Their lot tended towards misery and a messy end. But they were in it now, they had committed to it, they still had to keep going.

Dean swore he would not let harm come to Sam if he could help it, no matter what the cost. He breathed in the scent of the fake floral perfume from the soap cake, mingled with the muskier aroma of Sam's crotch, of his body's arousal punctuating and stimulating the dance of sensual interaction between them. The tile fogged, beads of water collecting to roll down and puddle where the sides of the tub met the wall.

Finally, Dean finished with the most thorough washing he had ever given to anyone, himself included. He knew he had lingered a little longer than necessary below the waist, between the legs, up under Sam's balls and right over his tight hole in back. Dean fought with himself, face scant inches from taking that fat dick in his mouth again.

Sam, meanwhile, fought a hard battle with himself to calm down before he could take Dean by the back of the head and shove him closer. The flow of events puzzled him a tad, too: weird ghost stuff, disconcertingly frequent and strong need to pee, wet pants in front of Dean, boundaries out the window and mutual BJs? How did that work exactly?

He looked down at his brother, trying to force himself to slow down, to slow his breathing and make his heart stop racing.

“What...what now?”

Dean looked up into his eyes.

The only sound in the room for minutes after was the persistent roar of the water on time-ruined tile and composite plastic.


End file.
